


Clean

by flinchflower



Series: The 50kinkyways [47]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 46: Bathing. Dean always, always knows what Sam needs.  Some TLC!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the characters originally so I could use them as a writing exercise, to see how close I could get the characterization. Then I was corrupted by porn. And kink. Here’s a side of kink. This is simply for practice, not publication or profit. I’m in the hole by about 30 grand, if you’d like to seize my debt as punishment. AU in that I refuse to admit the death of John Winchester.

They’ve had a string of hellacious hunts – fall seem to bring out the worst – not just pedophiles, but spirits that go after children as well. None of them do well with those, and there are a lot of nights where if John is with them, the three of them huddle in a bed together at the end of the day, unable to sleep without knowing one another are close. After a month and a half, Sam and Dean on a hunt by themselves, finally reach the end of the trail, take down the demon involved. They make the call to their Dad to let him know, and he orders them firmly to take some downtime, taking the rare impulse to make his pride loud and clear.

Dean’s feeling refreshed enough, between Dad's praise and after his long nap in the passenger seat, to take care of provisions a few miles down the road and catch a shower. He frowns at his baby brother when he finally emerges, the kid is asleep, whimpering quietly in his dreams. Dean pads softly over, kissing Sam gently back into restful sleep. He’s woken scant hours later by Sam’s nightmare, the sound of brokenhearted sobbing. Nothing he can say or do is helping, the boy just isn’t listening. Dean feels desperate, wishing John were there to take care of him - and an idea strikes him. He muffles Sam with a deep kiss.

“Baby,” he rumbles quietly. “Do something for me, sweetheart?” Sam responds to the kindness, nodding. “I think you need to relax, Sammy, I’ll help you if you’ll let me. Will you put this on?” He holds up the narrow circle of Sam’s brown leather collar.

Sam comes off the bed and wraps his arms around Dean, crying again.

“What is it, baby?” He keeps his voice pitched low, soothing, not reacting the way he wants to, which is a queer combination of anger and fear.

“I don’t want a spanking,” comes the sobbed reply, and Dean gathers the boy into his arms. Sam’s a tough kid, but the middle of the night, all his vulnerability breaks through the hard shell. Dean rocks him a little, hushes him.

“No spanking, kiddo. Not unless you misbehave. Let me take care of you.” The reassurance does the trick, and a few minutes later Sam sits up, runs his fingers along the leather of the collar. He meets Dean’s eyes and nods. Dean’s smile is reward enough. He brushes the sweaty hair out of the boy’s eyes and a though occurs to him.

“I want to get you cleaned up first, Sam. Think you can behave in the shower? I don’t want you getting the collar wet.” Sam hesitates, gives Dean a tentative smile. Dean smooths his thumb along Sam’s face. “What is it, baby?”

“Um,” Sam is trying to dig up his courage, though he knows he doesn’t have to – the dom role brings out a gentle side to Dean that he loves, craves right now. “Can I talk in there?”

“Tell you what, you can say my name, baby. That way I can ask you if you need something.”

Sam nods and gives his big brother a definite yes. Dean kisses him long and slow, caresses his hair, and then stands both of them up, leading Sam carefully to the bathroom. The kid shivers as the chill air hits the nightmare sweat. Dean fumbles with the stopper in the tub, runs the water while he undresses the boy. He carefully removes the bandage from Sam’s wrist, checks over the demon wound, then eases the boy in. Sam sighs happily at the warm water, the unusual depth of the bathtub, then gives Dean a wary glance. Dean just smiles, cups his hands, and pours hot water over the boy. He’s brought a bag in with him that has their own, soft washcloths, and he soaps one of those up with the bar of Ivory.

Dean gently lifts one of Sam’s hands, starts with the boy’s big hands, carefully soaping between his fingers, along his wrists, gently rubs up the tender skin of the inside of the boy’s arm, minding the recent wound there. Long strokes wash unseen dirt from Sam’s upper arm, and sweep across his chest, down his other arm.

“If you want to touch me, Sam, you can.” He smiles as the boy rests tentative fingers on Dean’s upper arm, and is glad for the relaxation that suffuses Sam’s face as he touches. He carefully wets and resoaps the washcloth, washes Sam’s broad chest, his face. The way the boy scrunches up his eyes to keep the soap out, the furrows along his forehead and the crinkles of his eyes are impossibly endearing, and Dean runs some clean water into a cup, rinsing Sam's face, carefully chasing the water with his fingers and lips to ensure the soap is gone. His thumbs sweep across Sam’s closed eyes, followed by kisses to the eyelids and their long damp eyelashes.

“Open your eyes, baby.” He waits until Sam blinks, looks at him closely, and presses in a deep kiss. Sam seems to want more, but Dean simply taps his lover’s nose in a silent and loving reminder of who is in charge, which elicits one of the shy smiles that make Dean positively ache. He moves on to washing the boy’s feet, tickles a little to hear the boy giggle like he did when he was a child, and then flush with embarrassment. Dean’s quick to press a smiling kiss in at that, and moves up the miles of muscled leg, now massaging as he moves the soapy cloth around. He transfers the deep attention to Sam’s back and neck, feeling tense muscles release under his ministrations.

He gives Sam another rewarding kiss, spending a few minutes exploring Sam’s lips with his tongue as he drains some of the soapy water and runs fresh hot water in. “I want you to very slowly, very carefully get up on your hands and knees, Sammy, don’t slip. I want to wash your bottom, I can’t do that while you’re sitting.” Sam blushes just as Dean expected, with the use of the childish word, and the older boy is amused to see that the flush spreads down the kid’s back as well. He takes his time with this, swirling the heavy, soapy cloth along Sam’s buttocks, gently bathing the soft testicles, and the hard penis, dropping kisses along the boy’s back as he does so, and then rinses the sensitive skin with fresh water as he had Sam’s face.

“Hold back, kiddo,” he says gently, as Sam’s hips strain forward. “Be slow again, turn around and sit with your back to the tap, Sammy.” Dean wets the boy’s hair, and slowly works up a lather, slips his soapy fingers into the long locks. As he massages Sam’s scalp gently, he leans in and takes more of those long kisses, sometimes moving away to cover the rest of Sam’s face with touches of his lips. Sam sighs, apparently without realizing it. Dean makes sure he’s balanced well, turns the tap on to just the right temperature, then carefully supports Sam’s neck and back, lowering him under the tap to rinse the soap from the boy’s hair. Sam never closes his eyes, looking deeply into the compassionate green of Dean’s own, and the older boy is overwhelmed by the trust there.

Sam blushes as his stomach rumbles, and Dean smiles. He simply helps the boy up, running his hands along the firm muscles, making sure the soap is rinsed off. When Sam is standing outside the tub with the smooth gurgle of the water draining, he towels him off slowly, gently, and then takes the boy in his arms, stroking the damp hair and the strong back. He gives Sam a little smile, and dresses him in a soft, clean sweatsuit.

“I don’t want you getting cold. I think I need to feed you before I do anything else with you.” He’s glad to see the glint of humor in Sam’s eyes, and a smile ghost across his face. “I need you to sit down so I can clean out that wound first, though, baby, all right?”

Sam nods and takes an obedient seat on the commode. Dean tries to be as gentle as he can, but the disinfectant stings like a motherfucker – they use the most powerful stuff they can get their hands on, since demon wounds are so often filthy. Sam flinches, and an inadvertent “Ow!” escapes him – he looks with worried and scared eyes at his brother before he’s even got his mouth closed again. Dean stops what he’s doing, feeling the look, and cradles Sam’s head in his hands, gives him a stern yet compassionate look.

“One swat, before you sit down at the table.” Sam actually looks relieved, and Dean finishes re-bandaging the wound, leads the boy out. The swat isn’t that hard, though he takes the boy’s sweatpants down for it, it’s just enough to make Sam’s bottom pinken, guaranteed to tingle a little when he sits down. They eat together quietly, simple foods that Dean acquired on his supply run, and when they’re through, he looks at the boy’s tired eyes.

“Baby. I’m going to put you to sleep, and then… You tell me, when we wake up in the morning, what you need.”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam says shyly, and the fullness of his gaze is all Dean needs to lead him to the bed and make good on the promise.


End file.
